


Raven's Knowledge

by OverMyFreckledBody



Series: Soul the Color of Poppies [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Crows, Fortune Telling, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 02:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13671936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: "Counting crows has been a popular method of fortunetelling the future in many countries for hundreds of years."Stiles counts crows with three important people.





	Raven's Knowledge

**Author's Note:**

> this has nothing to do with valentine's day or the other thing i was gonna try to write. what happened?
> 
> [inspiration](https://power-of-three.tumblr.com/post/170760350229/moonbeamsinmasonjars-from-the-element), also where that line in the summary comes from
> 
> [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2jC5WAJzp34) (though it doesn't apply at all)
> 
> this is in the same universe as my other magical!Stiles fic, with the blood magic, if you wanna read [that other fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13538907).

                The grass is a little itchy, but he knows it’ll be worth it, since it’s almost time for the birds to come out. Beside him, Scott twitches, wiggles, clearly just as uncomfortable, before jerking up. He sits up on one elbow and yanks an arm up to point at the sky. “I see one!”

 

                “Ah, so it begins,” Stiles states, as vague as he can, just because he knows it freaks Scott out, especially in relation to his magic. Out from the corner of his eyes, he can see those black birds he was waiting for start to fly over his house and into his view, heading for the woods nearby.

 

                Scott, of course, ignores him, and watches them, with a strange amount of excitement that Stiles wasn’t expecting. After all, it’s not much, just watching and counting – that’s all it should be to Scott, anyway. It’s something else to Stiles, enough of something to be what he could share with Scott, but he doesn’t expect Scott to get it, not really.

 

                Once all of the birds fly out of view, Scott turns to him, slight grin pulling on his cheeks. “There were four of them, so what does that mean?”

 

                Even if it is a little strange, any apprehensiveness over Scott melts away at that smile, and as Stiles grabs his spell books and cracks it open to the page bookmarked for this. The writing on the page is years old, full of notes on what certain words mean, and with doodles of crows scattered around the empty space.

 

                ( _He’s copying some of his favorite spells from Mom’s book into his own. His still creaks a little when he opens it, folds it to certain pages. Mom’s, instead, is bent in many places, stained, and smells just like herself and herbs. He can’t wait until his shows its age like that – shows how practiced and wise he’ll be._

_“Hey, Mom,” he starts, to get her attention, as he scribbles down the words. She turns to look at him, still stirring the pot in front of her and makes a humming sound to show she’s listening. “What does sig…significant mean?”_

_She smiles at him, and he returns it, eager for her explanation. As she speaks, “’Means ‘important’,” he adds a note of its meaning in the space between each line. He can hear the swish of her dress against the cabinets when she turns back to the stove and finishes that particular row before setting down his pen and standing up._

_He drifts over to where she is standing and arches onto his tippy-toes to see into the pot of cheese she’s cooking. He already knows what it is – homemade baked mac and cheese – and the combined sight and smell make his mouth water. “Hey, Mom,” he says again, and she hums again. “When’s it going to be done?”_

_She laughs this time and shifts the spoon into her other hand so she can use the one closest to him to ruffle his hair. He ducks out of it, but grins all the same. “Patience,” she chastises, “We’ve made this before, you know how long it’ll be.”_

_Patience, she always starts, and each ending is different._

_Patience, nobody learns like you and I do. Sometimes it takes them a little time, a different way._

_Patience, you know they’ll solve the mystery in time – it might not even be the guy you think it is._

_Patience, it’s the foundation of your magic._

_All lessons he’ll keep close to his heart and take to his grave.)_

 

                “’ _Four crows’_ ,” he reads aloud, glancing up to see he has Scott’s rapt attention. “Means _‘birth of a boy or significant event to do with a son’_.” He closes the book and reaches over to mess up Scott’s hair with his hand. “Looks like you’ve got something coming up for you soon, man!”

 

                Scott laughs and tries to haul himself out of Stiles’ hand’s way, which only makes Stiles lean closer to tug him into a noogie. “Fr-Frick!” He yelps through giggles, “Stiles, stop – dude!”

 

                Stiles only stops when he deems Scott’s hair thoroughly messed and himself out of breath, and they fall back into the grass together. He looks over, still grinning, to find Scott doing the same. As if on cue, they burst into breathless laughter again.

 

* * *

 

 

                A couple of days after that, Scott’s mom kicks his dad out of the house. Stiles doesn’t know much about it at the time, but he knows a little. He knows that it takes his dad, dressed in his uniform, to get him out, and he overhears a couple of deputies at the station mention it, using the words, _drunk_ and _alcoholic_ and _stairs_ and _nobody even knew_.

 

                He also knows that Scott’s out of school for a few days (and Stiles is told that he needs to give them a little space before he can go over, but Scott might be _coming over_ himself, soon, _maybe_ ), but when he comes back, it’s with a bump on his head that he keeps touching at absentmindedly.

 

* * *

 

 

                 The sun’s falling, sending shadows all over the parking lot. It’s always funny, the effect this has on the birds, and with how they circle around, cawing and flapping their wings, before settling onto certain trees, in clumps. Stiles watches them in amusement and when he sees one group already starting to land, he counts them to himself.

 

                “Six,” he says, still walking, and his dad’s gaze follows his own. They’re almost to the entrance of the restaurant now, and soon any thoughts of crows and their meanings will be forgotten.

 

                His dad speaks up, however, and points to something on the ground, close to the base of the tree. “Don’t forget that one. Seven.”

 

                He’s right. There’s seven of them. And just as Stiles realizes this, the crow jumps up and flies into the tree to roost with it’s buddies.

 

                He thinks back on that one passage on counting crows. _Seven crows_ , he squints a little and focuses harder. _Something to do with secrets_.

 

                Ah well. He’d have to look it up when he got home.

 

* * *

 

 

                Werewolves.

 

                Now that’s a secret Stiles never thought he’d be harboring.

 

* * *

 

 

                There’s the sound of his window sliding up, catching a little before it goes up smooth. He doesn’t react much than having to work a little harder to keep his focus, because he knows it’s just Derek. Nobody else uses his window. Well, nobody who uses it doesn’t come in without any other sound, that is.

 

                “Hey,” he greets without looking up, and bites down on the end of his eraser, trying to work out one of his homework questions. His stupid mind though, takes this opportunity for distraction and runs with it – realizing the time and just what’s going on.

 

                There’s gotta be at _least_ a couple birds out there right now. It’s their prime time, after all.

 

                “Look out there, real quick,” he says, waving to the window, and before he forgets every detail about his homework, underlines the important details in the passage for later. “How many crows are out there?” He pauses for a second, and then adds, “They’re the black ones, by the way.”

 

                He expects a retort for that, or even to feel the burn of Derek’s glare on the side of his face, but all he gets is, after a few seconds of silence, “Ten.”

 

                Ten, huh. That’s a number he hadn’t seen in a while. Ten means _denotes something overwhelming_.

 

                He looks up finally, and sees Derek staring back at him. The light of the dying sun arounds him, turning him into a silhouette, but Stiles can still see his face, still see the odd softness there, tinged with confusion. It’s… strangely, outright breathtaking.

 

                “That makes sense,” he finds himself muttering, still staring, and Derek, amazingly, catches on, because Stiles can see him glance in the direction of Stiles’ work table, where his closed spell book rests. His expression clears, just a little, but keeps that gentleness that Stiles isn’t used to, isn’t expecting.

 

                Derek takes a step closer, without saying anything, and Stiles’ head for once, is completely blank. He feels like he’s rebooting, this image of Derek like this is apparently just the right thing to shut him down and – and it just makes sense.

 

                Derek has never been anything but overwhelming as hell.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, that other [Inclined!Stiles fic.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13538907)
> 
> Have a great day! Thanks fro reading!


End file.
